Nocturne English version
by Skool
Summary: Young Severus Snape has a nightmare. Severus does not know that the dark man in this nightmare is going to out to have a lot of impact on his future...
1. Part I

This story was originally written for a yahoo group Halloween challenge. Requirements were: mentioning Halloween, mentioning vampires and/or werewolves, writing a scary story.  
I would like to thank ProfessorWannabe for prodding me into translating it. Her kind help, patient support and firm but gentle insistence helped the story to grow and blossom.  
"Nocturne" will be posted in three parts. Reviews are always welcome.

* * *

**Nocturne Part I**

The seven-year-old boy was shivering with cold. The wind was blowing through his thin white nightshirt as he put one bare foot carefully before the other. The moss was unpleasantly cold, moist and spongy and every now and then thin branches pierced through the soft soles of his feet. He sobbed once and looked around.

Around him were just a few trees, they were thin and bare with long branches which resembled the legs of spiders. The ground was mostly covered with moss, here and there few patches of grass, naked earth. He could see headstones – many headstones but there was no path he could have followed.

He felt very lonely and did not know for how long he had been walking around aimlessly. He looked around him again, knew he was deserted but certainly not alone. Yet, whatever was watching him from beyond the mist, it was not human. He felt that very distinctly. He felt how it lurked ... waited. Again he sobbed. He knew what his father would say.

_Pull yourself together, boy. _

But he was only seven years old. He wanted to go home. He wanted to lie in his bed with a cup of hot chocolate. He wanted to listen to his grandmother reading him a bedtime story. This was all he really wanted. Yet here he was, and this place was not good. He did not want to stay here and a voice told him it would not be wise to stay if he did not want something very bad to happen. How was he supposed to find his way home if he did not know how he had gotten here in the first place?

With a sleeve of his nightshirt he wiped the tears from his face which seemed to flow more readily the longer he stayed in this place. The sleeves were damp and stained. His father would be very angry with him.

"Severus, follow me." A whisper echoed from everywhere.

The small boy froze in terror.

"Come on. Be a good boy," the voice lured softly.

It was not a benign voice. It was a voice which eerily resembled this place. Cold. Insidious. He did not want to hear it. He did not want to see the creature behind it.

The small boy squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip so as not to let slip a sound.

"I know where you are. I am going to get you. You are mine. And if you do not come of your own accord, I will see to it that you are going to reconsider."

The boy whimpered quietly and pressed both his small hands to his ears, so he would not have to listen to the voice.

"Oh, come on. Be a good boy, Severus."

The voice was still there, as loud and clear as ever and it sounded amused over his feeble attempt to elude it.

"Do you really want me to take control over you?"

The small boy merely stood there in his thin nightshirt hands pressed onto his ears, eyes squeezed shut. Nevertheless, tears were escaping his eyes. He bit his lower lip until it hurt.

"Open your eyes; I want to show you something."

The small boy shook his head.

"I told you to open your eyes and follow me. I want to show you something."

"No," the small boy croaked.

"You are only a small human being. You are going to do as I say. Open your eyes and follow me."

The small boy thought he felt a mighty shadow brush past him. His eyelids went upward as though being pulled by strong fingers. He gasped in pain.

Twenty steps ahead stood a figure; its back was turned to him.

"Follow me. Keep the distance. Do not try to come closer."

The figure slid a few paces ahead. The small boy stayed where he stood.

"Alright then," the voice said with threatening calm, "if that's how you want it."

And without wanting to, the boy made a step. And one more. He tried to fight it and heard the cold voice.

"Twenty paces exactly. Not one more. Not one less. Don't not be foolish enough to fight it. It won't get you anywhere."

New tears started to flow. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw movement. Blurred human frames. Carefully, he looked to his right. The shapes became more distinct. He thought he could make out an older boy with blonde hair, who was followed by several other boys. The small boy opened his mouth to attract their attention, yet something told him they would not hear him. He turned his head to the left. He saw a black haired boy who appeared to be as old as he was. That boy also had a few other boys following him. They would not hear him either.

"Follow me!" The voice interrupted his train of thought harshly.

The small boy's head turned without his wanting to, forcing him to look ahead. His legs made one step after the other as though they had never done anything else in his whole life.

The figure kept gliding while the trees were beginning to stand more closely even though they were still bare. More and more, the trees were resembling bones which had been stuck into the earth by some mad mind. The boy felt the soles of his feet being pierced by small, sharp stones and branches. He wanted to drop onto the ground, overwhelmed by :ph34r, fatigue and pain.

The figure stopped gliding ahead, but the boy did not even notice. Without having the order to do so, his short legs made two more steps. A squelching noise reached his ears before his nerves registered the cold sensation. He was standing ankle-deep in ice-cold marsh. The small boy panicked when he felt could not free himself from the mud's icy grip.

Two strong invisible hands gripped him from behind under his armpits; he was raised in the air and lowered onto the safe ground. The little boy turned hastily but no one was to be seen. His heart was beating madly in his chest. Instinctively he wanted to run, yet again, his body would not obey.

"Stop! Look here!"

He turned around to see the figure facing him.

The face was half hidden under the black hood of his cloak, but the boy could make out a dominant chin. The man was tall and remarkably elegant. The boy did not know much about the world and its people, but he could tell that this man had power and that he was used to giving orders.

"Watch! Learn! Understand!" The man pointed on the ground.

With surprise, the boy saw the man hovering inches over a lake's surface while he was standing at the edge of it. A picture appeared on the surface of the water.

A boy – much older than himself, almost an adult. He had long black hair and was rather thin. This boy was running through a dark tunnel. He stopped at a door and just when he was about to open it, another black haired boy appeared, pulling out his wand.

The picture stilled, faded to make room for another scene.

It was the same boy with long black hair. He was older now. A young man. He looked tired, kneeling in front of a figure whose face was not discernable. He held out his left arm, his head was bowed to the ground. A bolt of lightning filled the picture with bright green light. When the picture was clear again, the young man was holding his arm to his body, his face contorted in pain.

Again the picture faded to make room for an new one.

It was night. The young man was standing next to a tree, gazing at the ruins of a house. Smoke was whirling about. Despite the dark, one could see a baby, sitting in the debris of what had been its home. It was crying. The young man merely stood there. When a light hit the street, he retreated into the shadows of the tree. A very large man, who was sitting on a flying motorbike, landed on the street. He took the baby into his huge arms, wrapped it safely into blankets, climbed back onto the motorbike and flew off again.

The picture faded.

The surface of the lake rippled, drawing a dominant chin, lips, nose, eyes. The lips curled into a superior smile, revealing very sharp teeth. The nose was long and straight. The eyes so piercing, they could look right into the very bottom of a person's soul.

The boy's heart skipped several beats.

_You are mine!_

The face lifted from the lake's surface. It was large and evil. Quick as lighting it made a snapping movement toward the little boy, threatening to swallow him with its size. Before it could reach the boy, he screamed in pure terror and woke up.

Everything around him was dark and he screamed. Screamed. He did not stop until his lungs were burning and his throat was aching.

The door to his room flew open with a crash; candles flickered alight. His grandmother hurried to his bed, put her arms around him and cradled him until he calmed. His little body was shaking with sobs.

She was stroking his hair, whispering quietly, "Calm down, Severus. It's only a dream. Everything is okay. Shhhh. Don't cry anymore."

He snuggled into her, smelling her scent, which always comforted him and made him feel safe.

Loud footsteps echoed from the hall.

"That cry-baby's bawling again?" His father's voice shouted even before he could be seen.

The little boy nestled even closer to his grandmother, who held him tighter in turn.

"Your son Severus," the grandmother pointed out sharply, "was having a bad dream. Children are allowed to have nightmares and they are allowed to cry when they have them. There is nothing wrong with that."

"It is I, who is responsible for his rearing."

His father was yelling so loudly, the little boy flinched. Out of the corner of his eye, the boy could see his mother, her arms tightly wrapped around her shawl.

"It took you five minutes to make it from your bed to this room and to act like a complete idiot. You never gave a handful of bat droppings when it comes to your son's well-being, much less his rearing. You are treating my daughter and my grandson like a tyrant. You live in my house and if you don't retreat to your bedroom this instant, you will be very sorry. Out! Now!"

His grandmother's voice had taken an very hard, sharp edge. The little boy felt his grandmother's chest rise and fall when she spoke. Her words were reverberating in her body and in his room. As always, his mother did not interfere, she just stood there, listening passively.

"This boy needs a decent flogging." His father shouted in rage.

"Not in my house. For the last time Ambrose: Out!"

It was plain as the light of day; this was her last warning. His father turned, swearing loudly and let the door slam shut.

His grandmother turned her attention back to the boy. Her face grew softer; her voice was calm and soothing.

"You know the rules. Tell me your dream and I will dream it for you. It won't come back to you again."

Indeed, he had often told her what had happened in his nightmares and sure enough, they had never come back. However, this dream was different. He shook his head and buried his head in the crook of her arm.

"Was it so bad, then?"

He nodded.

"And you do not want to give me the dream because it was so bad."

Again, he nodded.

She skimmed her fingers through his hair, lovingly. "I can deal with your father, can't I? Do you really think I won't be able to deal with your dream?"

The little boy thought.

The grandmother reached for her wand. A blink of an eye later, he heard the fire crackling merrily in the grate and he smelled hot chocolate.

"Alright, and now tell me the dream."

The little boy looked up. The candles, the fire, his grandmother, the hot chocolate. His bedroom was the safe haven he had longed for when he had been trapped in the nightmare. Everything had been so real-- he took a secret glance at the sleeves of his nightshirt. They were white. He moved his feet about, carefully. They were warm, dry and not injured. His grandmother smiled. He curled his lips into a meek smile. Everything was alright.

"Here, drink a bit of this." She handed him his favourite cup, it was dark blue with sparkling green stars.

The little boy took the cup and drank a few sips. The hot chocolate was good. He was about to open his mouth to pass the dream to his grandmother when there was a movement by the grate. Someone was sitting in one of the armchairs, which were turned to face the fire.

A cold voice whispered, "You'd better not try."

The little boy's face went chalk white; he started shaking uncontrollably. His grandmother quickly took the cup.

"What's going on?" she asked.

He sat there -- petrified, starting to whimper.

"You won't tell her," the voice hissed threateningly.

He could not really see the man to whom the voice belonged. Only the upper part of his head, a mass of straight raven black hair, was visible. When the boy sat up a little straighter, he could see the man's black boots. He was sure it was the man he had seen in his nightmare.

His grandmother looked in the same direction as he did.

"What do you see?"

He did not answer. She wanted to get up, but he held on to her arm when she moved.

"Let go, please," she said patiently.

"No. No, don't go there."

"Well, what do you see?"

He almost said: 'The man from my dream.' He swallowed it only at the last moment.

She gently removed his hand from her sleeve and went to the armchair. She turned it around. No one sat in it. She turned the other armchair as well. It was devoid of anything remotely alive.

"You see, no one here. It's all as it should be." She looked at him intently.

His reaction seemed to satisfy her because she sat back on the edge of the mattress. "Do you want to pass me the dream now?"

And suddenly the man was back. He was standing right behind his grandmother, put a hand on her shoulder and flashed his teeth. He looked like a sly, dangerous animal. She neither seemed to notice his touch nor his presence. The boy was confused, paralyzed with :ph34r:. The man moved his lips, but no sound could be heard.

_One word about me and I'll kill her._

The meaning of the words sliced into the boy's heart like cold steel. The boy's lips were trembling; he threw his arms around his grandmother's hips and started to cry.

She realized that whatever scared him so much was real to him. He would not let go of her until he was asleep, so she turned to lay back on the headboard. He held on to her desperately. It took a very long time for him to calm down and even longer for sleep to claim him.

**-TBC-**


	2. Part II

This story was originally written for a yahoo group Halloween challenge. Requirements were: mentioning Halloween, mentioning vampires and/or werewolves, writing a scary story.  
I would like to thank ProfessorWannabe for prodding me into translating it. Her kind help, patient support and firm but gentle insistence helped the story to grow and blossom.  
Nocturne will be posted in three parts. Reviews are always welcome.

* * *

**Nocturne PartII **

**One year later**

It was a wonderful clear day at the end of October.  
The little boy held his grandmother's hand as they were walking through the streets of the city. They passed a large park, its lawn was sprinkled with colourful foliage. The windows of the Muggle stores held a dazzling array of pumpkins, spiders and witch dolls. The boy smiled. He was old enough to understand that Muggles had a soft spot for magic and yet they were keen on denying it really existed.

The old lady and the boy turned the corner to a large high street filled with people, who tried to take in what were probably the last warm rays of sun this year.

Out of the crowd walked a man in a dark cloak. The world seemed to turn slower around him. He looked straight into the boy's eyes.  
The boy stopped dead in his tracks. His grandmother walked on, tugging at his arm before stopping to see why he did not walk anymore.

Here it was again, the expression of terror on the small face. Frozen. Terrified. Despite her age, she crouched down to him. She was the only one who refused to look down on him.

"Severus, what's wrong?"

The man was standing behind his grandmother, wearing an evil smirk on his face.

"Can you hear me? What's wrong?"

The boy felt how his grandmother's hands were cupping his cheeks. He was not able to answer.

Some people stopped to look at the old woman and the little boy. The expression on their faces showed surprise, but something pushed them to walk on.

The man bent down to his grandmother. His face was dark, there was a mean twitch around the corner of his lips. The man's hand snaked around his grandmother's neck to her chin. He kissed her throat with open lips; his teeth were gently grazing her skin. The little boy screamed in horror.

"Severus, what's wrong, my dear?" His grandmother's voice had grown very concerned.

The man winked at the boy, got up and disappeared quickly in the crowd.

"Severus?"

He threw his arms around her, crying unrestrainedly. "Don't go," he sobbed, "please, don't go."

"Oh Severus, what are you talking about? I won't go anywhere. Calm down."

"Yes, you will go. He'll take you with him."

"Who will take me with him?"

The little boy did not answer. He breathed her scent, held on tighter to his grandmother. "Don't go, please. I need you. Please!"

The grandmother did the only sensible thing, she lifted him up, walked to the next deserted street and disapparated with her grandson in her arms.

Upon returning home, she sat him on a kitchen chair and prepared hot chocolate – without magic because it tasted slightly better. The boy had not moved, he watched her as though he could bind her to him with his stare. She set two cups of hot chocolate on the table.

"Alright, now the two of us are going to talk like two grown-ups. What do you think?" His grandmother sat down at the narrow end of the big table.

He looked at the cup, steam was rising from it. He looked back at his grandmother sceptically.

She had to smile. A talk like grown-ups carried by the comfort of hot chocolate! Severus was a clever little lad; she could not fool him. Sometimes she tried and he instantly showed he had seen right through her. He always forgave her right away, though.

"So, who is this man? I gather, it is a man, since you referred to him as he?"

The boy reached for his cup, turned it slowly in his hands. He did not speak.

"If you don't want me to go with him, you'll need to tell me what he looks like. How else am I supposed to know whom to trust?" Her voice was patient and kind.

He frowned when he considered what she said. She was right. He moved uncomfortably on the chair, gathered all his courage and was about to start his description of the man.

"Last warning, Severus Snape. If you tell her about me, she'll die," the cold voice sliced through the room.  
As though to emphasize the threat, the man stepped out of a dark kitchen corner at his two last words. He crossed the kitchen, sat down at the table, right opposite of the boy.

The grandmother saw the panic in her grandson's eyes. If she did not intervene effectively this time, she would lose an important battle.

"Is he here now?" she asked.

"It's none of her business," the voice said, "You won't breathe a word."  
The little boy saw again that the man's lips did not move when he spoke.

"If he threatens you, he is frightened. You are more powerful than you think, Severus. Do you hear me?"

Slowly the boy's head turned to his grandmother. "He doesn't look frightened."

She looked around, trying to see what he was seeing before returning her attention to him. "He is frightened, trust me. So, he is here?"

His little face was very serious. He nodded slowly.

"Fine, your grandmother is dead. Look at her closely. This is how a dead woman looks," the voice whispered.

"I didn't say anything," the boy screamed in panic. "I didn't breathe a word."

"You won't get anywhere with hair-splitting tosh like this, my boy. She'll slowly rot in the family vault. Worms are going to crawl into her skin, eating her from the inside. And it's all your fault."

The little boy put his hands on his ears. "No. No! NO! Grandma is going to live and she'll kill you."

The voice only laughed.

The grandmother put her right hand on his. He lowered both hands. "What did he say?"

The boy hesitated. She gently caressed his face. "Tell me. Just repeat whatever he said. It's not you who said it. You only heard it and I would like you to share this with me. Share his words with me," she said slowly.

He repeated the man's words haltingly. His grandmother nodded. "Where is he exactly?"

"He is sitting opposite me."

"What does he look like?"

"He's tall. Long, black hair. Evil eyes. He's got a long nose. Sharp teeth. He's wearing a black coat."

"Is he a vampire?"

He nodded. Shook his head. Shrugged.

"Your grandmother is as good as dead," the voice whispered. Again, the man's lips did not move.

"You'd kill her anyway, wouldn't you?" The little boy shouted. "You are no vampire. You can walk in daylight. My grandmother won't die. You are a liar. An evil liar."

"And you are a silly -- little -- helpless – boy -- a cry-baby," The man said slowly with a smirk when he got up from the chair. The smirk disappeared. "You are mine. Yes, you are mine." An eerie smile played around his lips again. He laughed, turned and returned to the dark corner where he melted back into he shadows to disappear completely

The boy literally collapsed on his chair.

"Is he gone?" His grandmothers hand was rubbing his back, helping him to calm down.

He nodded.

"What else did he say?"

Instead of answering her question, he held out his arms to her. She pulled him onto her lap. He reluctantly told her everything the man had said. "You won't die, will you?" The boy asked. "You are the only one who really loves me. Don't leave me alone here."

"I do not intend to die yet. I would never leave you all alone here."  
She pressed his little delicate body to her, which he readily allowed.

In the evening he was deeply scared to let his grandmother go. He asked her for another bedtime story, something he rarely ever did. She read him a second story, but when she finished reading it, he begged her to read him one more story.

"No, it's enough for today. Sleep now," she said gently.

He reached for her hand.

"I know you don't want me to go, but he won't hurt me. Don't be afraid."  
She tucked him in, pressed a lingering kiss on his forehead. "Would you like me to leave the magic light burning?"

He shook his head.

"Alright, good night, Severus. Sweet dreams."

"You too," deep concern edged in his voice.

The little boy slept soundly for most of the night. He only woke a dawn for a few seconds, before he turned and slept on as though someone had poured sleep-dust into his eyes.  
When he woke a few hours later, he was once again gripped by the concern for his grandmother. He jumped out of his bed, ran to her bedroom, knocked and bolted in without waiting for her answer.

She was sitting in her bed, slightly paler than usual, but she was smiling at him. His heart felt lighter.

"Good morning, Severus." She raised her hand to beckon him closer.

The little boy hesitated. Something was not right and this something was tugging at the corner of his heart.

"You don't like her? You don't like your dead grandmother anymore?" The old woman was moving her lips, but it was not her voice speaking.

The man stepped out of the dark corner of the room. His grandmother's body collapsed, devoid of life.

"No," the little boy whispered. "No!" Without thinking, he stormed towards the man, pummelled him with his small fists.

The man had not expected the attack; he swayed for a second before catching his balance again. He grabbed the boy and lifted him effortlessly. The boy hit him, his hand curled, scratching the man's cheek. Blood was flowing instantly. The man let him drop to the floor like a disgusting insect.

"You are mine," he spat before melting back into the shadows.

The boy was breathing heavily, staring at his hand. He could feel the man's skin under his fingernails. He had hurt him. At the same time, he grew aware that his life would change dramatically from now on. He would not be a cry-baby anymore. His grandmother had always protected him, but she was gone now. Hot tears were running down his face. He came to stand on his wobbly knees and went to the bed, lay down beside his grandmother, he put his arm around her, kissed her face. She was already cold. He let the tears run freely. One last time he wanted to feel the comfort only she could give him. One last time he wanted the scent of her perfume fill his nostrils.

A little while later, his mother found him, cuddled into his grandmother's chest, with tearstained cheeks and fast asleep. His mother woke him, told him to let go of the lifeless body. The boy did not see her again.

His father, who seemed in a much better mood now, had seen to it that all formalities were settled within four days. On the night before the funeral, his father invited his friends for a noisy night of playing cards, smoking and drinking. The boy knew that his grandmother would have never allowed something like this to happen in her house. She had never approved of his father's excessive drinking and gambling. To the boy it felt as though his father was dancing on his grandmother's grave. The fact that she was not buried yet only made it worse.  
When the boy walked from the bathroom to his bedroom to go to bed, he heard his drunk father shout, "A toast! A toast! … At this time tomorrow, … her coffin's already in that … wretched family vault, safely locked away till eternity. I give … my humble thanks to the deities … that this old cow requested a private funeral … oh - and to you, Willard, for speedin' up the process a little … matter of fact to you all … for comin' here tonight."

The other men howled and whistled their consent like a pack of wolves. The boy was standing still, forcing himself not to run downstairs to lunge himself at his father.

Two days later, the boy was presented a governess. His father had hand-picked this very stern, ill-tempered woman, who wore only black. She was the exact opposite of the boy's grandmother. Her lips were thin, her nose was long, her eyes were small and piercing. There was no trace of benevolence or kindness, neither in her features, nor in her demeanour.

When the boy saw her step into his room from the relative dark of the hallway on the first day, he had to bite back a cry. For a moment, he thought the dark man had walked in. The resemblance between the governess and the dark man was uncanny. The boy could not bring himself to trust this woman; he felt as though he was the subject of some sick conspiracy.

What was more, the boy's father had compiled a list of rules which the boy had to adhere to. When the boy broke one of the rules, the governess was free to discipline him in any way she deemed appropriate. She preferred to punish the boy by making him stand in the darkest corner, face to the wall. No punishment could have been worse. The first time he had broken a rule, she had made him stand half a day in the corner, because he had refused to comply, she had even used the Imobilus hex to force him to stay put. Sure enough, it had not taken long until the dark man's face appeared in front of his. The mouth was a malicious grin, the eyes cold and sparkling with glee.

"Ah, yes. You're mine now."

The boy's eyes widened then he squeezed his eyes shut, fixing his thoughts on his grandmother to fight down the feeling of panic. He tried to smell her scent when his face came into touch with the heavy fabric of the man's cloak. He tried to feel her warmth when two hands with long fingers pushed his face into the odourless cloak.

"Don't fight it," the voice whispered, trying to lure him.

I won't be like you, the boy kept repeating in his head, I won't ever be like my father. Like the governess. Like you.

"I am the spider," the voice whispered, "and you are caught in my web. The more you move, the quicker you'll be mine."

The morning after this incident, the boy would only wear black clothes. He took every chastisement with stoic calm. He became obsessed with learning. He put aside his childhood like an item of clothing which had shrunk in the wash, but at night, in his dreams, he hid in the arms of his grandmother, seeking and finding the comfort he so craved. Sometimes he woke in the morning, the scent of her perfume tickling his nose. It was in these scattered and cherished moments where he felt his soul come alive to stretch and to breathe.  
As a result of this strategy, the dark man appeared less and less frequently, never trying to initiate physical contact again, seemingly satisfied with reminding the boy of his presence by showing his face.

**-TBC-**


	3. Part III

This story was originally written for a yahoo group Halloween challenge. Requirements were: mentioning Halloween, mentioning vampires and/or werewolves, writing a scary story.  
I would like to thank ProfessorWannabe for prodding me into translating it. Her kind help, patient support and firm but gentle insistence helped the story to grow and blossom.  
Nocturne will be posted in three parts. Reviews are always welcome.

* * *

**Nocturne III**

**13 years later**

He was in India, doing research on old, long forgotten curses for the Dark Lord. The sun was shining all day long, but his skin refused to tan. The air was full of the smells of thousands of spices. The people were proud and yet they displayed dignified humbleness for sorcery. This country caused a string of his most inner self to vibrate; a string he had never even been aware of. He liked it here.

On a day in February, a piece of news from England found him and made his thoughts jump completely out of track for the rest of the day. James Potter and Lily Potter, neè Evans, had announced they were going to be parents in summer. Snape retreated to his room to digest the news. A persistent feeling was pulling a string in his memory. A vague voice told him he could connect this circumstance to another piece of information. The more time he spent on finding the missing piece for the jigsaw puzzle, the blurrier the picture became. It felt like being lost in the woods desperately searching for trees. Very upset with himself, he went to bed early and read to focus on something else altogether.

This very night he dreamt about his grandmother. They were both sitting in a garden; the air was warm and pleasant. A gentle breeze rippled through the grass, carrying the scent of her perfume in his direction. She smiled benignly and said, "Severus, please listen to me. A boy will be born this year. He'll be forced to grow up without the protection and love of his parents. No one can change that, as it is destined to be. However, the time is near in which you are expected to take over responsibility to ensure misery, pain and destruction do not get out of hand. I would like to see you taking care of the weak. If you make the right decision, we'll be seeing each other very soon. I love you."

The scent of her perfume became so strong that he woke with a start. His confusion only held for a second, suddenly the missing pieces found their way to their designated places.

To this very moment, everything the dark man had predicted such a long time ago had indeed come true. Snape's intuition whispered that the destroyed house must be the Potter's home. He thought about it. He knew a part of Sybil Trelawney's prophecy, it had spread like wildfire in the Dark Lord's inner circle. Immediately, the Dark Lord had plotted and planned. His grandmother had just told him, the Potter child would live. What was he supposed to do with this knowledge? Snape remembered her words:

If you make the right decision, we'll be seeing each other very soon.

Did this mean he would die soon? What would be the use? He had the urgent need to wash his face with ice cold water, so he went into the bathroom, stepped to the sink with the tiny mirror. For the first time in months, he really saw his face. His cheeks were hollow. His face was pallid, framed by dark hair.  
Shocked and bitter he grew aware that he had become one of them.  
His hands gripped the edge of the sink, the knuckles were white with tension.

**4 days later**

Severus Snape left the Hog's Head where he had met with the Hogwarts headmaster. Carefully he looked about, but no one paid attention to the wizard in the long black cloak. He passed a dark alley. At this very moment, there was a movement of black in the shadow. Snape took two more strides before an inkling made him stop. He tensed and turned slowly.

A man stood leaning coolly at the wall – undoubtedly it was the terror of his childhood, not a day older than he had been some thirteen years ago. It must have been a little more than a decade since Snape had last seen him. Snape was struck by a short flash of a memory cast aside. The night before he was to go to Hogwarts, he had not been able to find sleep. A very familiar dark shape blurred in the shadow of a corner had chuckled maliciously.

Snape blinked to return to reality. Even tough there was no hint of a threat in the dark man's pose, Snape grabbed for his wand in reflex. The dark man shook his head slowly. Snape's muscles remained tense. The man moved, motioned the young man to follow and walked back into the alley.

Snape followed.

The dark man was staring intently at him. Snape had often tried to understand who this man really was. When he was younger, he used to think it was Mr. Death himself who had haunted him. Then there had been times when he thought, he had found a way to travel to the past to warn his younger self. A few years ago, he had concluded it may have been the Dark Lord. It all turned out to be false. The man existed. He smiled in a way that startled Snape.

"What do you want from me?" the young man hissed.

"Congratulate you on the choice you have made," the man replied vaguely and smiled.

Snape did not answer. His blank stare only caused the other man to chuckle quietly. Snape raised his wand again.

The man shook his head, "You'd better not."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Severus, no. Leave him alone," a gentle voice said -- one he thought he'd never hear again.

Snape's head whirled around. "No," he whimpered, taking a step back.

He was instantly pressed up against a wall, sharp teeth less than an inch from his cheek as cold, moist breath hit his face.

"Hear her out, silly boy," the man hissed.

"Due to your choice, you have become a very important man, who now lives in the rather high risk of being killed. According to how things look at the moment, we also know that you are very likely to be killed, however, we cannot always predict the way things turn out. Since your role in this is incredibly important, we are here to give you a gift," his grandmother explained.

Snape snorted derisively.

His grandmother stepped very close to him. Snape saw that she had not changed much in the past thirteen years. She raised her hand to his cheek to touch him, he pulled back as far as he could.

"Severus, my boy, I would have never left you alone, but he took me away from you. It took me a long time to realize it was all for the best. It is very difficult to understand how sometimes the threads of destiny intertwine to weave a net which can carry the weight of our future. Sometimes threads need to be cut and reattached to ensure the net holds. Oh Severus, I was there in all the nights you cried. I was not allowed to do more than to watch over you when you needed me most. Please forgive me."

He believed her, knew she was telling the truth. "How?" he whispered.

"Dimitri turned me into a vampire the night you were afraid to let me go. He was very careful not to leave marks which may have led to me being cremated. I felt you hugging me, felt you crying the next morning; but I could not do anything. The transformation is a long process in which the fledgling is paralyzed and helpless, a state which resembles death. This state can last between two to four days depending on several factors. I felt them lift me, saw the coffin lid being closed. I heard the sounds muffled through the casket, heard your father holding crude speeches in the presence of his boozing, gambling friends. I heard you cry yourself to sleep." she stopped for a few moments, obviously caught up in the painful memory. "They put my coffin in the vault, Dimitri came to get me as soon as the night set. He looked after me when I was still weak. He instructed and guided me when I was getting stronger. He is a good teacher."

Snape knew the last remarks were meant to appease him when in fact they did the opposite. His entire wrath was focused on the man who held him pressed to the wall like a bully.  
"He took you away from me. He knew it. He always knew everything," Snape yelled in disgust, looking at the man.

"Wrong," the man murmured. He hesitated. "Well, not quite right … really."

"You claimed I was yours," Snape said angrily. "You are a liar. You took my grandmother and turned her into a … a creature of the night." He tried to break free from the man's tight grip.

"What was I supposed to do? It is necessary to keep a promise, if one wants to be taken seriously. Your grandmother was of no real importance in this – when it all started. It didn't matter whether she lived or died. All that mattered was that you needed to hate your father. Hate – you see. Not just fear. You grew with your grandmother's death. And yes, it's true. You are mine! Your father used you as stake in a game of cards against me. He lost. It was only through your hate that I could claim you, for only true hate can break the blood bond."

Snape looked at his grandmother with a questioning look of insecurity. She nodded solemnly. Deep inside, Snape knew the man was telling the truth. He felt his legs give way.

His own father had lost him in a game of cards.

The man held him pinned to the wall, but this time he did it so the young man would not collapse. "Now you're so much more. You are going to work against The Dark Lord."

"I … don't understand--," Snape mumbled weakly. He really did not understand. He would have never thought his own father would treat him like an object. He would have never thought his grandmother was still here. The whole world was shrouded in surreal mist.

"Let me explain this to him," his grandmother said quietly to the dark man.

The pressure against his shoulder disappeared; arms came around him, supporting him, holding him. He bent his heavy head to his grandmother's shoulder, while she gently rocked him. He could not hold back the tears, so his grandmother whispered soothing words.

"Would you please listen to me?" she asked after a while.

He nodded against her shoulder.

"The Dark Lord," Snape flinched in her arms, "always intended to pull the vampires to his side. It's very tempting, considering the possibilities which open up for vampires. However, vampires are loners. We never form groups larger than six vampires, all of whom are usually related. We also don't get along well with other leechers, Dementors in particular. Dimitri here, is a vampire grandmaster. He understood very early on that the creatures of the night will never be more than pawns in The Dark Lord's reign of terror. He didn't like this and he managed to convey the facts quite clearly to other vampires. Most vampires agreed. We are very interested in getting The Dark Lord out of the way."

"You're also on Dumbledore's side?" Snape asked dully.

His grandmother tensed.

"We're fighting for our kind," the vampire growled.

"Vampires are a bit like centaurs," Snape whispered absentmindedly, sounding very young even to his own ears.

His grandmother chuckled, "Yes, I suppose one could see it that way. And I'd like to give you a gift. Would you accept it?"

Snape thought he knew what this gift was. He paused and nodded, "Yes, grandma, I accept it."

"Promise me to keep this to yourself. Neither The Dark Lord, nor Dumbledore are to learn your secret. It's the only way to ensure your safety."

Again he nodded. "But how am I supposed to keep this a secret?"

"I received my blood from Dimitri. He is a grandmaster, he can walk in the sunlight, he can control his thirst. Through me, you will drink the slightly weaker blood. You will age and keep your reflection in the mirror. You can take daylight and you can control your thirst. You will not become completely immortal, but the powers of the night will protect you sufficiently against poisons and the Unforgivables. You won't lose your soul. You won't be able to reproduce, though. Don't be afraid, my boy. I will be there to look after you, to guide you."

She hugged him tighter and he returned the hug fiercely before she put her lips on his neck as though to kiss him gently. Snape smelled her perfume. Her bite was a lot less painful than he would have expected. He fell into it with the knowledge of turning away from the dark by becoming a child of the night. And this child would fight on the light's side -- with the goal to deliver itself.

**-The End-**


End file.
